8 Sterling Enterprises

A month had zipped by, and the big merger between Electric Boat and Bethlehem Steel wrapped up, birthing Sterling Enterprises. Sure, I was shooting for a Wayne Enterprises vibe, tackling a mix of sectors. That's the dream, anyway. But dreams aside, there was something immediate I needed: the lifeblood of any venture—people.

So there I was, making my way to THE '21 Club', an infamous speakeasy that, just two years prior, had been busted for slinging booze during Prohibition. But did that shut them down? Not a chance. Instead, they got crafty, rigging the place with secret doors and hidden compartments to keep the party rolling, untouchable.

"Hello Sir, may I know if you have a reservation?" a hostess inquired as I stepped in.

"Yes, under Sterling."

"Ah, right here. Your guest arrived about 10 minutes ago. Please, follow me."

Thanking her, I followed through the hushed, shadowy ambiance of '21', the air thick with history and whispers of the city's elite. She led me to a secluded booth where a middle-aged man was sipping water, his presence commanding even in silence.

"Mr. Torrio, pleasure to meet you at last," I greeted, easing into the seat opposite him. Johnny Torrio, known in quieter circles as The Father of Modern Gangsterdom, offered a wry smile, sizing me up with a mix of intrigue and wariness.

"Mr. Sterling," he began, his voice smooth yet edged with caution, "I have to say, your invitation caught me off guard. So, tell me, what's the youngest mogul of the century want with someone like me?"

As I faced the man across from me, I steadied my nerves. A quote from Elmer Irey, the famed chief of the Treasury Department's Intelligence Unit, echoed in my mind: "He was the smartest and, I dare say, the best of all the hoodlums. 'Best' in terms of talent, not morals, of course." This was a man who'd even earned a grudging nod from the law.

"It appears you keep a keen eye on the business world, Mr. Torrio. That makes my proposal straightforward. I want you on board as an advisor for Sterling Enterprises."

He started to demur, "I apologize, but I've retired—"

"Please, just hear me out," I interjected, eager to keep him from shutting down the conversation. "You claim retirement, yet your actions speak of a man still deeply engaged. Just recently, you resurfaced in New York, testifying for Al Capone. That's not the move of someone who's stepped back completely."

Torrio's face was a mask, but his eyes betrayed a spark of interest.

"I've done my homework, Mr. Torrio. You constructed an empire in Chicago and left it to Capone, not out of defeat but preference. You chose the shadows, guiding from behind the scenes, particularly after that attempt on your life seven years ago."

Leaning in, I locked eyes with him. "Sterling Enterprises is in its infancy, but our vision is vast. With your acumen and our financial muscle, we could erect something legendary."

He paused, taking a measured sip of water, his gaze never leaving mine. "Hypothetically, if I were interested, what are you offering?"

"A mutually advantageous alliance," I offered, my tone as smooth as the scotch served at the bar. "I'll steer the corporate ship, while you guide us through the... murkier waters. Your compensation? Let's just say it'll dwarf anything you pocketed in Chicago. All I ask in return is your discretion."

Torrio weighed my words, his poker face betraying nothing. He was no amateur; he'd play his hand close to his chest.

"You've piqued my interest, Mr. Sterling," he finally said, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. "But in my line of work, trust is more valuable than gold. If we're to proceed, I need to know you grasp the gravity of the partnership you're proposing."

I held his gaze, unwavering. "I'm fully aware of your history, Mr. Torrio. And I'm not some greenhorn. The ambitions I harbor require a certain... leniency towards the legalities, akin to how your empire thrived on the back of Prohibition."

A ghost of a smile seemed to flicker across his face. We were on the same wavelength.

"Prohibition's on its last legs, a fact we both recognize. But the end of one era is merely the dawn of another," I continued, gesturing to emphasize the breadth of my vision. "What I'm offering is a clean slate—a chance to sculpt a legitimate legacy from scratch. No more skulking in the shadows or dodging the feds. You're a business virtuoso, Mr. Torrio. Imagine applying that expertise in the full light of day."

I leaned in, a hint of fervor in my voice. "Together, with your know-how and our resources, we could erect an empire unlike any other, all legitimate. No more glancing over your shoulder, no more fear of the clink. What do you say?"

I shifted to a conspiratorial tone. "I reckon the future's brewing up tougher laws and closer scrutiny on... let's call them 'extra-legal' ventures." My glance at Torrio was loaded with meaning. "But legitimate business? That's where the real freedom lies. Endless possibilities."

I leaned back, my fingers forming a thoughtful arch. "Your move, of course. But I get the vibe, Mr. Torrio, that you're not one to sit still. You've got that itch to build something grand, minus the hassle of looking over your shoulder."

I paused, letting my words linger in the charged air. Torrio was a statue, but his eyes, they danced with a hint of intrigue. Hook, line, and sinker.

"Plus, how about we rope in your old protégé Al Capone?" I watched Torrio's face for a reaction.

He chuckled, dismissive. "A pipe dream. Capone's cooling his heels in Atlanta Federal Penitentiary. You're not breaking him out."

I flashed a knowing smile. "Ever heard of 'money talks'? We could make it happen." Leaning in, I steepled my fingers again. "Cash is the world's favorite merry-go-round, after all."

Torrio's eyebrow arched, skeptical yet hooked.

"Here's my pitch," I continued, smooth as silk. "You and I jet down to Atlanta, have a chat with Capone. If he's game—and I bet my bottom dollar he will be—I'll move mountains to spring him."

I sat back, the picture of confidence. "With my financial muscle, a few palms greased here, a couple of strings pulled there, should do the trick."

Torrio rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Even if you spring him, who says Al's going to play ball? He's a lone wolf."

I grinned, predator-like. "I have a way of being... convincing. And the perks of my plan? Irresistible." I let that simmer for a moment.

"So, how about that trip south? My plane's on standby." I reached out my hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Torrio sized me up, then shook my hand with resolve. "Alright, Sterling. Show me what you're made of."

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Strolling into the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary's visiting room with Torrio a step behind, we spotted Al Capone behind a thick glass partition. His face broke into a grin at the sight of his mentor.

"Johnny!" Capone barked, snatching the phone on his side. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Torrio's smile was slight as he lifted the receiver. "Likewise, Al. How's the hospitality?"

Capone's smirk was tinged with bitterness. "Oh, they're rolling out the red carpet." His gaze then drifted to me. "And who's this?"

"This is Alexander Sterling," Torrio introduced. "He's the reason we're here."

I grasped the phone. "Mr. Capone, a pleasure."

Capone sized me up, skeptical. "What's your game, Sterling? Johnny's no social butterfly."

I nodded, acknowledging the truth. "Indeed, I'm here with a proposal, one that might offer you freedom."

He scoffed. "Got a decade here, kid. No one's cutting me loose."

"Yet, with the right influence," I countered, "I've got the means to... expedite matters."

Interest flickered in Capone's eyes. "Continue..."

"I'm proposing a partnership in my expanding empire," I clarified, noting the flicker of ambition in Capone's eyes. "This is your ticket out and a lifeline."

Capone's smirk vanished, replaced by a mix of shock and suspicion. Torrio's eyes narrowed, a silent warning.

Undeterred, I pressed on. "Your headaches, memory issues, mood swings—they're not just from prison stress. You're battling neurosyphilis, Mr. Capone."

His face flushed with anger and disbelief. "And how would you know?" he snapped.

"I have my ways," I replied, maintaining eye contact. "Without treatment, you're looking at severe deterioration: paralysis, blindness, insanity. You'll be a shell of yourself."

Capone trembled, caught between rage and fear. Torrio watched, his expression grim.

"I can secure your release within a year," I continued, my voice low and steady. "And I can get you the treatment you need." I paused, letting the weight of my words settle. "In return, I ask for your allegiance, as a partner in my venture."

Capone's stare was piercing, but I didn't waver. "What's stopping me from double-crossing you once I'm free?" he challenged.

A faint smile played on my lips. "You once asserted, 'All I have in this world is my balls and my word, and I don't break them for anyone.' Correct?"

Capone's eyes widened, then he erupted into a hearty laugh. "Well, damn. You're thorough, kid," he said, an edge of respect in his voice. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."

He leaned forward, his finger jabbing the air towards me. "But cross me, and I'll have your head as a mantelpiece, got it?"

My response was firm, unwavering. "The feeling's mutual, Mr. Capone. Loyalty pays well in my world, but betrayal? It's a one-way ticket to regret." My voice took on a steely edge. "Betray me, and you'll be begging for the confines of this cell."

We locked eyes, two hunters in a silent standoff. Then, breaking the tension, Capone's face split into a wide grin.

"Alright, kid. You're square with me," he said, slapping his hand against the glass. "Get me out of this dump, get me the help I need, and we're in business."

I nodded, firm and resolute. This was a deal with the devil, but necessary. Capone's ruthless savvy was a crucial piece of my puzzle.

"Agreed," I said. "Then we have a deal."

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Nodding to Torrio as we left the penitentiary, the stifling Georgia heat enveloped us instantly.

"How'd you uncover Al's ailment?" Torrio inquired, his brow furrowed. "He's kept that close to the chest, even from me."

I met his probing eyes. "Consider it a mix of intuition and a bit of subtle probing. Plus, having a doctor for a dad doesn't hurt."

Torrio seemed to accept this, nodding slowly. "You nailed it. It seems Al's running on borrowed time. But you seem to have a plan?"

"Absolutely," I affirmed. Modern medicine might be rudimentary, but armed with my knowledge and resources, I was confident in tackling Capone's condition, a move beneficial for Sterling Enterprises too.

Back in New York, Torrio went to settle his business while I headed to a grand soiree at Governor Franklin D. Roosevelt's mansion in Albany. My recent financial exploits had secured me an invitation.

Mingling with ease among the elite, I eventually found myself chatting with Governor Roosevelt himself. "Governor," I began, all charm and confidence, "I fully support your presidential ambitions."

Roosevelt's smile was warm. "That's very gracious, thank you."

"Oh, it's nothing," I assured him. "In fact, I'm prepared to back your campaign, both financially and strategically."

Roosevelt's eyes gleamed at the mention of funding. "That's quite generous. Friends like you won't be forgotten."

I grinned, leaning in. "And, Governor, once we've bid farewell to prohibition, I look forward to toasting your success with some exquisite wine."

Roosevelt's initial sharp glance softened into amusement. "You're quite the savvy young man. Here's to a fruitful partnership."

As our glasses clinked, I reveled in the art of give and take. Cozying up to a future president seemed like a shrewd move. And as for Capone? Patience. Timing is everything, and the governor's party was hardly the place for such a discussion. After all, patience is a virtue, and I intend to play this game right.

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With just a couple of weeks left before my summer break ended, I was utterly spent. You might think that's to be expected—I am human, after all, at least for the moment. I'm eager for my future plans to unfold, but for now, I'm laying the groundwork, or my 'foundation,' as they call it in those web novels. Pretty apt, right? HAHA.

In the meantime, Torrio had wrapped up his personal and business matters and was fully committed to Sterling Enterprises. The first task I assigned him was to oversee the exploration and acquisition of roughly 1000 acres in Southern Indiana. I knew that J.T. Jones, Hugh Jones's father, would strike oil there in a few years, a discovery that would eventually propel his Roxxon Corporation. That's partly why I invested in Bethlehem Steel: with their industrial muscle, branching into oil would be a breeze.

Now, you might wonder why I haven't tangled with Roxxon Corp. Well, it's too early for me to dive into that mess—with Hydra, Viper, and terrorists in the mix. Plus, I prefer making money without throwing caution to the wind. I'm aware that my actions might hinder them initially, but stopping them altogether is a different ball game. They're in league with the Council of Nine and made a fortune during the Wall Street Crash—an enterprise I can't begin to rival. Especially considering Thomas Gloucester of the Council orchestrated the 1929 crash and tipped off his associates well beforehand.

Shifting away from those concerns, I still had a crucial issue to tackle before academia reclaimed me. I reached for the phone and dialed for an overseas connection.

"Yes, I'd like to place a call to London, England. To Dr. Alexander Fleming's laboratory at St Mary's Hospital, please."

Impatiently drumming my fingers on the desk, I waited. Though Fleming discovered Penicillin four years ago, the world hadn't yet recognized its potential, mainly due to the economic downturn. Convincing Fleming to collaborate with me, especially before his research in penicillin became centre-stage, would yield unprecedented medical and financial gains.

"Dr. Fleming's laboratory," a crisp British voice answered.

I straightened up. "Good afternoon. I'm Alexander Sterling from New York. May I speak with Dr. Fleming, please?"

"What's the call concerning, Mr. Sterling?"

"I represent a private medical research firm keen on discussing a unique opportunity with Dr. Fleming, particularly about his antibacterial research."

After a tense pause: "One moment, I'll check if Dr. Fleming is available."

A small grin crept over my face as I waited on hold. Soon, a polite British voice returned. "Dr. Fleming speaking."

"Dr. Fleming, a pleasure. I'm Alexander Sterling, and I've been closely following your penicillin research. It's revolutionary, though I understand progress has been hampered by limited resources."

I paused briefly before continuing. "This brings me to the purpose of my call. I represent Sterling Enterprises, and we have an exciting proposition for you. We're ready to equip you with an advanced laboratory, substantial funding, and a team of top pharmacologists, pathologists, and biochemists to accelerate your penicillin research significantly."

I paused, letting the weight of the offer sink in, then resumed with added zest. "Imagine the breakthroughs you could achieve with proper funding and support. We could bring penicillin to the masses, revolutionizing healthcare worldwide, and we could do it in just a few years."

I allowed a moment for the idea to tantalize him before pressing on. "What do you say, Dr. Fleming? Join us at Sterling Enterprises. We offer a very attractive package—competitive salary, benefits, and bonuses. Whatever you need."

My tone was rich with earnest persuasion. "This is a rare chance to alter the trajectory of modern medicine. Your work has the potential to save innumerable lives. Let us help you fully realize this groundbreaking discovery. The world is eager for it."

Leaning back, I waited, hoping my offer resonated with him. I played down my financial motivations, framing the proposal as a noble quest for medical advancement. Fleming didn't need to know about the profits that penicillin, especially during the impending war and for treating Al Capone's condition, would bring. The promise of well-funded research should be enticing enough.

After a significant pause, Fleming's voice, tinged with curiosity, filled the line, "You present a very persuasive argument, Mr. Sterling. Lately, the pace of my work has been...discouraging. Your proposal might be the catalyst we need..."

I couldn't help but smile. "I'm thrilled to hear you're considering it, Dr. Fleming," I responded, my voice brimming with warmth. "Let's meet to iron out the specifics. I'll arrange your flight to New York for next week. How does that sound?"